


untraditional, unconditional

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: lucky you’re the one i love [12]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: In movies Ripper occasionally watches (covertly, and with Buffy) the will-you-marry-me moment is generally outside, or in the rain, or after a passionate declaration of love, or something ridiculous and romantic like that.





	untraditional, unconditional

In movies Ripper occasionally watches (covertly, and with Buffy) the will-you-marry-me moment is generally outside, or in the rain, or after a passionate declaration of love, or something ridiculous and romantic like that. What actually happens is that he’s bringing home the groceries (oranges for a citrus-banana smoothie he wants to try and make, coffee because his girlfriend is a nightmare without her morning cup, and an unholy amount of noodles since the children are stopping by for dinner) and Jenny, Jenny who he trusts, _ambushes_ him as soon as he comes in, thrusts a ring pop in his _face,_ and says, “Hey, I found this and it got me thinking—”

“No,” says Ripper, horrified. “Jenny, no. Don’t you  _dare_ propose to me with that, I sent for my grandmother’s ring and you are _not_ proposing to me with a _ring pop._ ”

“—that we should really institute a no-candy policy in this house when the kids are—what?” Jenny goes pink. “You sent for your grandmother’s ring?” she asks. Then, blushing even more furiously, “For me?”

“No, it’s for my _other_ girlfriend,” says Ripper dryly, realizing too late that he has completely fucked up. Then, “And—I didn’t send for—anything.”

“I was just talking about a no-candy policy,” says Jenny. She’s grinning ear-to-ear. “On account of me finding this under the couch.”

“Why is it this close to my face if you found it under the couch?” Ripper demands, trying to switch the subject from accidental marriage proposals to Jenny’s absolute inability to understand that the five-second rule isn’t applicable to _everything._ “For god’s sake, Jenny, just—just throw it out and talk to me about it _without_ shoving it in my face—”

“Will you marry me?”

“Jesus,” says Ripper, “ _yes,_ just put that away.”

Jenny drops the ring pop and kisses him. Ripper drops all the groceries and kisses her back. Oranges are _everywhere_ on the floor, he’s sure, and he hears the thud-thud of the noodle boxes falling out of the bag, but this is his _fiancée_ he’s kissing and they’ll have quite enough groceries to last a lifetime.

Then Ripper pulls back and says, “I had a perfectly lovely ring, you know, and you just proposed to me with a ring pop you found under the couch—”

“Excuse  _me,_ ” Jenny huffs, “you’re the one who brought up your ring in the first place, I was just finishing the job so we’d have an adorable proposal story instead of, oh, I don’t know, _my husband fucked up and told me before the ring even arrived!”_

“So that’d make you my wife, then?”

“Ugh,” says Jenny, and kisses him again. “So domestic.”

 

 

* * *

 

The ring arrives two days later, and he puts up lots of fairy lights in their small backyard, stringing the trees and the fence with little glowing dots. She gets back from work at eight, and he takes her out to the backyard and gets down on one knee at eight-ten precisely. Well-timed, he thinks, and well worth it to see the way she presses her hand to her mouth, smiling.

 

* * *

 

“ _You’re getting married!”_ Buffy shrieks, rushing into the Magic Box and nearly knocking over a display. Jenny and Ripper, who have been engaging in some vaguely PG-13 rated activities behind a bookshelf, hastily jump apart and do their best to look like the kind of people who are responsible enough to exchange nuptial vows and wedding rings. “Oh my god you’re getting married and Jenny’s gonna be a computer science teacher and Ripper can run the magic box and, and—”

“Breathe, Buffy,” says Jenny, who’s rebuttoning her shirt. Ripper steps in front of her to give her an extra few seconds.

“Can we see the ring?” Willow asks excitedly, hurrying in with Tara close behind.

“Yeah, sure!” Jenny steps around Ripper, turns to give him a last, lingering kiss, then steps up to Buffy and flips out her left hand so that the diamond catches the light. “Family heirloom,” she adds proudly, and it strikes Ripper how much that sort of thing _means_ to Jenny. He gets the sense that she picks up on his realization, because she holds out her right hand and wiggles her fingers until he steps up to stand next to her.

 _We’re going to be a family,_ he thinks, and likes that.

“Ooh, sparkly!” Buffy takes Jenny’s hand, examining the ring more closely. “Are you guys gonna have a big blowout wedding, or—?”

“We’re on a budget,” says Jenny, who doesn’t sound too bothered by that fact. “We’re probably gonna just get married in the backyard in a few days or something. Maybe have a barbecue.”

“Are you going to invite family?” Tara asks, and it’s perhaps that it’s Tara asking that makes the question a little easier to handle; she more than any of the children knows the complexity of Ripper’s and Jenny’s situations, because she’s had difficult family of her own.

Jenny and Ripper look at each other, and then Ripper says, “We’re inviting you all, I think,” because he sort of likes the idea of having a party that’s just him and Jenny and the kids, and he doesn’t want to wait all that long for a terrifyingly big Watcher wedding. There are traditions on both his and Jenny’s sides that involve large weddings, and if they involve one family member, he’s pretty sure he has to involve them all, so—

“We should start figuring out what to _wear,_ ” Jenny says, and grins at him. Ripper grins back.

 

 

* * *

 

Ripper thinks he’s going to wear a suit to his wedding. He likes the idea of a fancy tuxedo, and he ends up fussing with his hair early in the morning the day before he and Jenny are scheduled to get married in their backyard, just because he wants to find the style that looks best for a soon-to-be-married man. Then he starts thinking that if he’s married, maybe he should cut his hair so it looks less shaggy—he’s edging towards his late twenties, now, and he’s a respectable shop owner with a _fiancée,_ he should have a haircut that reflects that—and just as he’s mulling over what haircut would be best, he feels Jenny’s arms wrap around his stomach from behind and she says, “You know it’s still gonna just be you and me, right?”

Ripper thinks he gets it. “Yeah,” he says, and puts the comb down, turning around to look at Jenny. She’s wearing a pair of his boxers and a tank top, her short hair is alarmingly, adorably mussed, and his grandmother’s engagement ring is on her left ring finger. _I’m going to be her husband,_ he thinks. _She’s going to be my wife._ It’s an alarmingly grown-up thought to have for someone who still plays in a band in his garage, but then maybe growing up sneaks up on you a bit.

 

 

* * *

 

Buffy, his best man, helps him with the wedding cake. She’s over the moon about being such an important part of the wedding planning process, and she has _so many recipes_ she wants him to try that they end up with three dozen different test cupcakes, all frosted, iced, and decorated.

“I am not eating this many cupcakes the day before I get married,” says Ripper, staring with some horror at the many, many, many cupcakes that are taking up his kitchen.

Buffy gives him an angelic look, and he knows exactly what she’s going to say exactly before she says it. “Looks like you’ve got your wedding cake, then,” she says, sounding delighted by the notion, “or should I say wedding _cupcakes,_ ” and then she busies herself with arranging the cupcakes on a few little display stands she’d brought from home.

Jenny, who’s being fitted for her last-minute wedding dress (or, more accurately, trying on a bunch of different thrift store dresses brought over by Willow and Cordelia), pokes her head in and is immediately dragged back into the bedroom by a giggling Willow. “Can’t see your groom before the wedding,” Ripper hears her say, “it’s bad luck!”

“He and I have had _scores_ of bad luck and managed fine, I wanna see the cupcakes!” Jenny objects in return. Ripper feels a soft warmth curl in his chest and sneaks a cupcake while Buffy isn’t looking. 

 

 

* * *

 

Cordelia is in charge of what she calls the “Wedding Aesthetic” but what’s really just fussing with decorations and redoing all of the very nice work Ripper did with the fairy lights. He wants to start complaining, but can’t really find anything when he sees how nicely she’s spruced up the backyard with balloons, candles, Buffy’s cupcakes, and a very nice painted banner that says _Ripper and Jenny_ in big black letters. Ripper has a feeling that if he’d sprung for the big wedding, it would have been _Rupert and Janna_ on that banner, and it’s nice to see the name he chose for himself right next to the name Jenny picked as her own. Well—Jenny can call him Rupert, and he sometimes calls her Janna, but that’s between a soon-to-be-married couple so it’s not really anyone else’s business.

“I’ve almost got the flower arch set up,” Cordelia announces to the group. Despite the fact that she’s been doing most of the heavy lifting in the backyard, she looks absolutely impeccable in her cream-colored dress and heels.

“Isn’t it bad form to wear white at a wedding if you’re not the bride?” Ripper asks, bemused.

“It is if the bride is wearing white,” says Cordelia cryptically, which makes Ripper grin. He likes it when Jenny’s got a trick or two up her sleeve.

“Something blue!” Willow shouts, barreling past Ripper and Cordelia with a bright blue corsage. “Gotta adhere to the traditions—”

Ripper adjusts his leather jacket where Willow had knocked it, and that’s when he sees someone waiting right outside the gate to their backyard. Stepping around Cordelia, he opens the gate, and he feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him.

“Hello, Rupert,” says his grandmother, and gives him a small, proud smile.

“Gran,” says Ripper, feeling a little sheepish. “I, um, suppose you—”

“Figured you wouldn’t be wasting all that much time with your Jenny?” his grandmother finishes. “I meant to drop by and congratulate the both of you on your engagement, but it seems as though I might have arrived just in time for another happy occasion as well.”

“Yeah, a bit,” says Ripper awkwardly. He should have thought through the concept of asking his gran for her old engagement ring—she’s a lot smarter than he gives her credit for, and he gives her credit for a _lot._ “Sorry I didn’t invite you—or Dad—or, um, anyone, really. It’s not that big an event.”

Cordelia, whose occupation at the moment seems to be making his life as difficult as possible, shouts across the yard, “XANDER HARRIS, THIS IS THE BIGGEST EVENT YOU’VE EVER BEEN INVOLVED IN, STOP SLACKING AND SET UP THOSE TABLES!”

“She’s a bit dramatic,” Ripper adds.

His grandmother looks at him for a long moment, her smile quivering, and then she claps him on the shoulder and says, “Rupert, I am _intensely_ proud of the man you have become. Might I stop by and give my congratulations to your bride?”

It takes Ripper a moment to speak, after that. Shyly, he smiles too, then says a little awkwardly, “I-I suppose you could stay—a bit longer than that. Meet the kids. I’d like it.”

The backyard really is coming together. Faith and Anya are helping Xander with folding chairs borrowed from the Magic Box storeroom, Cordelia is holding various floral-print dresses up to Tara to see which looks best on her, and Buffy, armed with a portable video camera, is recording the entire process with excited narration. Willow, Ripper supposes, is still off helping Jenny; a maid of honor’s job is never done.

Unsure of what he’s supposed to do, Ripper heads back inside and nearly collides with Jenny. “Oh, don’t look!” she gasps, squeezing her own eyes shut and quickly covering his eyes with her hand.

Ripper grins a bit, closes his eyes, and takes both of Jenny’s hands in his, squeezing them tight. “Not looking,” he reassures. “I know that’s bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in that,” says Jenny stubbornly, “I just don’t want the kids giving me a hard time about it.”

“Of course,” Ripper agrees.

“And—”

“Yeah?”

“No one’s _giving the bride away._ Just to be clear. That is a patriarchal, idiotic tradition and I don’t want—”

“No, actually, I think my gran’s walking me down the aisle to you,” says Ripper quite seriously. “You are, after all, the one who proposed.”

Jenny giggles, and then lets go of his hands, placing her hands on his shoulder to press a slightly off-center kiss to his mouth. “I love you, dumbass,” she whispers against his mouth, and then she pulls away and moves back. He hears the sound of her colliding with the wall, then her laugh, and then the sound of her footsteps retreating to the bedroom, and waits five extra seconds before opening his eyes.

“I love you too, you know,” he calls after her, grinning like an idiot, and then heads back out to the backyard to help lay tablecloths or something.

 

 

* * *

 

Angel’s officiating. Weird as fuck to have the bloke who almost killed his wife marry them, but according to Jenny it’s a gesture of goodwill, and Ripper really will do anything for Jenny so he figures this is a small sacrifice to make. He examines himself in the floor-length mirror in his and Jenny’s bedroom. Neatly combed hair that, yes, is still a bit more on the side of singer-for-Wretched shaggy, but it seems a bit more honest than a married-man haircut; Jenny’s right about things not magically changing just because he calls her his wife. Sensible button-down bought for exactly this occasion, tuxedo jacket from one of his band mates, dusty green waistcoat that he’d taken from his father’s closet before leaving for college all those years ago—light blue pocket square handed to him by Cordelia.

New, borrowed, old, blue. For all his rebellion in college, Ripper always has had a bit of a soft spot for traditions.

Someone knocks on the door, and Ripper turns to see Buffy standing there in a black dress with a tuxedo T-shirt thrown over. Everyone’s been having quite a lot of fun with the rather lax dress code. “Hey, you ready?” she says, her voice soft and very happy.

“Yeah,” says Ripper, and grins. It feels—the easiest thing he’s ever done. Best decision he’s ever made. Took him _years_ to figure out Jenny was the one he wanted to be with, let alone even _think_ about marrying her—after that mess with Ethan and Randall and the rest, part of him had been afraid his heart made the wrong decisions. She’s the person that makes his head and his heart match up, he thinks, and he gets the sense he’s that for her too. He likes that.

“C’mon, lover boy,” says Buffy. “She’s waiting.” With that, she disappears, leaving the door ajar, and heads out to the backyard. Ripper’s not sure, but he _thinks_ he can make out a slightly louder rendition of “Here Comes The Bride,” complete with electric guitar—of fucking course those kids would invite the rest of Wretched to be the wedding band. God, but he’s got a good family.

He adjusts his tie one last time, then heads out to the back door, where his gran is standing all dressed up in one of those matching pastel skirt-jacket-hat things that all grans seem to somehow own. She extends an arm to him, then opens the door, and—

_oh._

There’s Jenny, at the end of it all, her short hair framing her face, holding a bouquet of orange blossoms, wearing a shimmering green dress with a flared-out skirt that ends at the knees. She’s woven orange blossoms into her hair, and she’s looking at him, and she’s smiling. Ripper wants to take off and fucking _run_ towards her and wrap her in his arms and never let go.

“It’s your wedding, dear,” says his gran with some amusement, as though she knows what he’s thinking. “And you’ve never _really_ needed anyone to point you in the right direction—you always do find your way there in the end.”

So Ripper runs. He almost trips over the front step, and he can hear the delighted exclamations of the children and of his band, but the music doesn’t stop and Jenny’s laughing as he scoops her up in his arms and twirls her around. He’s fairly certain she drops the orange blossoms.

“Um,” says Angel. “You two aren’t—you’re not married yet. You know that, right?”

“I love you,” Jenny whispers into Ripper’s collar.

“I love you too,” Ripper whispers into her hair, and puts her down in front of him. She stoops to pick up the orange blossoms, then pulls herself up, hair mussed, eyes sparkling. _My wife,_ he thinks, and his heartbeat picks up.

“All right,” says Angel, sounding a little confused. Buffy whoops. “Okay. Everyone knows they’re not married? Great. Let me just read some stuff.” He starts in with some speech that Ripper really isn’t listening to; Jenny’s reached out and taken his hand, stepping just a bit closer to him, and now all he’s thinking about is the vows he’s got planned. They’re rather nice vows, in his opinion. He spent a good amount of time on them—three months, in fact, _long_ before he’d even proposed—and he’s got them memorized very well at this point. He was even practicing in the shower. _Jenny, you—_

“The rings?” Angel says again, and points to Xander, who’s holding them out on a pillow and looking pointedly at Ripper.

“He’s too busy looking into my eyes,” says Jenny very loudly. “I’m irresistible.” She takes one of the rings, then takes Ripper’s hand again, slipping the ring onto his finger. He’s never going to take it off, he decides. Never, never, ever, and he picks up Jenny’s ring and slips it onto her finger. She sniffles a little and smiles; for all her supposed disdain for tradition, Jenny shares the same love for it when it’s _him_ she’s sharing traditions with. He can understand that.

“Rup—” Angel gets a very disapproving look from Jenny. “Uh, _Ripper,_ ” he says, looking a little frightened at the way Jenny’s still glaring, “do you have any—do you both have vows you wanna say?”

“I’ll go first,” Jenny whispers to him, “I know you’re gonna make me cry, and I don’t think I can handle that right now.”

“Apt and accurate,” Ripper agrees. “I’m bloody touching when I put my mind to it.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Jenny, and sniffles again, still smiling. “Okay. Um, Rupert—I love you so much. Like, crazy much. It’s almost ridiculous. I only had two days to write these vows, so they aren’t that great, but—marriage to me is honestly just an extension of what we’ve already got, you know? I want to promise that I’ll always stick by you, and that I’ll always be there to patch you up after patrol and listen to you complain about the customers who come into the Magic Box and don’t buy anything, and that I’ll always be down for making out in the training room when the kids think we’re having important research talks—”

“Is  _that_ what they’re doing?” shouts Faith indignantly. “That’s not fair! Ripper said the training room is a no makeout zone!”

“ _Shh,_ ” says Ripper. “My _wife_ is talking.” She’s not his wife yet, but he likes saying it.

Jenny likes hearing it, too, because her cheeks go pink and her smile widens. “Yeah,” she says. “I want to promise all those things, but—I think you already know me well enough by this point to know I’m not going anywhere. So that’s my promise. That I’ll always keep on living up to my word, making good on my promises, and loving you like crazy.”

This is _staggeringly_ romantic from someone who proposed to him with a ring pop she found under the couch. Ripper resists the temptation to say this thought out loud only because he’s doing his best not to cry in front of absolutely everyone before he’s started in on his own vows. He doesn’t really do all that great at it, and raises a hand to his face, smiling through his tears. “Right,” he says, his voice wobbling. “Well. You’ve certainly made my vows look quite awful before I’ve even started them.”

Jenny giggles. “I did, didn’t I?” she agrees. In the front row, Willow has burst into tears and is sobbing into Tara’s shoulder.

Ripper clears his throat, then tries to sort out his thoughts. “Jenny,” he manages. “You—have known me at my worst and at my most confused, and you have loved me all the same. You have given me kindness and patience, and you’ve always told me when I’m making an incredibly stupid decision. I’m a better person for knowing you, and—and there’s nothing that I want more than the opportunity to be able to make you feel happy and loved for as long as you’ll let me, because the both of us know _you’re_ the one calling the shots here.”

“Damn straight,” Jenny agrees, eyes bright.

“Truly,” Ripper finishes, “I-I count myself lucky you’re the one I love, and even luckier you love me.” Jenny’s hands in his, he turns to Angel and adds seriously, “We’re married now, aren’t we?”

Angel squints at the papers he’s holding. “Did anyone say _I do?”_

“Your bloody idea to get him to marry us,” Ripper says through his teeth to Jenny, and she giggles wetly.

“Um, Rupert Edmund Giles,” Angel says, still reading off the papers, “will you—follow up to all that stuff you said in your vows? You know, loving, cherishing, having and holding?”

“ _Oh_ my god,” comes a voice, and before anyone knows what’s going on, Cordelia’s stalked up the aisle and snatched the papers from Angel. “Ripper,” she says, “do you promise you’ll be the kickass husband Jenny deserves?”

“I do,” says Ripper. Jenny is in hysterics.

“Jenny,” says Cordelia, fixing Angel with a firm look when he tries to grab the paper back, “do you promise you’ll be an intensely awesome wife to Ripper?”

“I do,” Jenny wheezes.

“Cool,” says Cordelia. To Angel, she adds, “You owe me half of whatever they were paying you to do this,” shoves the papers back at him, and hurries back to her seat, high-fiving Buffy and Willow before settling herself down next to a giggling Anya.

“By the power vested in me—thanks to—someone,” Angel manages, still looking utterly confused, “I pronounce you two man and—and woman.”

“ _Husband and wife!”_ Buffy shouts.

“Husband and wife,” Angel corrects himself. “Yep. You two can kiss now.”

Ripper picks Jenny up and kisses her, the children tossing orange blossom petals _everywhere._ One gets in Jenny’s eye and she has to pull back a bit to brush it away, and that’s when it _really_ hits Ripper that they’re truly, properly married. This is his wife that he’s holding, in her green dress, her bouquet held behind his head as she twines her arms around his neck.

“So I’m your husband now,” he says. “You’ve locked me down.”

“I’m sorry, _I_ locked _you_ down?” Jenny looks positively joyful. “ _You’re_ the one who sent for your _grandmother’s ring_ —”

Ripper kisses her again, and again, and again.

 

 

* * *

 

Everyone dances to Wretched at the reception. Ripper hops up for a few songs (and yes, of _course_ he sings the one about Jenny, what kind of husband would he be if he didn’t), but most of his time is spent dancing with his punch-drunk _wife_ (he loves calling her that, loves it so much) and eating cupcakes with the bridal party. Xander ends up eating most of them, but Ripper doesn’t mind; he and Jenny are rather preoccupied being happy newlyweds.

“So are you two gonna have any kids?” Buffy demands, icing all over her nose.

Jenny hands Buffy a napkin, then says, “Give us a break, we’re adulting one step at a time.”

“I wanna see the wedding video when it’s edited,” Dawn adds. “Particularly that part where Cordelia saved the entire wedding.”

Angel mumbles something about “didn’t need saving” and “was doing _fine._ ” Cordelia pats his shoulder and continues to gracefully drink sparkling apple juice from her champagne flute.

Jenny smiles a little, then leans back into Ripper, tucking an orange blossom into his lapel. “How’s marriage treating you?” she asks, letting her hand linger on his chest.

“Am I still going to be able to play with the band?”

“As long as I _never_ have to cook you dinner,” says Jenny, and settles her cheek against his chest. Ripper kisses the top of her head and listens to the band, and—they’re happy. He likes that bit the most, out of all the things that have happened tonight: they’re happy. It seems like the best bit of luck any wedding could have.


End file.
